I stoop at the muddy river to wash the filthy rags, bloodied by a seeping flow that will not stop. They tell me I am unclean, as if I don’t know. I don’t need the priest at the temple to remind me of uncleanliness. Like an outcast leper, I also long to be clean.

Dipping my rags into the rippling water, I watch dark red swirls rush downstream. Shame hangs my head. I am like the beggar who sits pleading at the gate, “Have mercy! Have mercy!” My lips have uttered these words in the outer courts, where women turn their backs on me, their whispers like so many furious, swarming wasps. Pointing fingers and shaking heads tell me to keep my contamination at home.

I come to the temple to pray. “Jehovah God, free me from this burden that weighs me down.” I am like the beast carrying grain to market, straining under the load. I bend forward and clutch myself, sobbing when the pain is unbearable.

I heard a neighbor telling another neighbor about Jesus. Who is Jesus? I wonder. The town is stirred up with anticipation, saying Jesus will soon be here. They call him The Healer.

Visiting male doctors, I have cringed under their lewd stares and unhelpful ways. Why should I turn to another man? Yet I’m out of options, standing at the door of desperation. Dignity was long driven into the dust under my feet, but hope continues to invade my thoughts.

The size of the shouting crowd tells me I am too late. So much pushing and shoving, reaching out to touch this mysterious man. Stooped as I am, a tunnel suddenly emerges. I enter and crawl to Jesus, oblivious to the pain  of my trampled bloody hands.

Panting, I will myself to move forward, but Jesus is moving too fast. As I collapse, my fingers lightly graze the hem of his garment. A sob escapes my lips as I pause. Then, I stand, sensing something strange. The sticky warmth between my legs is gone. But then, my heart stops cold when I hear his voice.      

“Who touched me?”

Tears stream down my burning cheeks. Shrinking in fear, I look for a way out of the crowd. Perhaps I should apologize to Jesus. I’m a pathetic woman bothering an important man.

Yet I fall at Jesus’ feet and a surge of power pulses through my body. I whisper, then shout, the words: “I’m healed!”

Someone pushes me, tells me to get out of the way. But Jesus turns and looks at me. I see tenderness in his compassionate eyes.

“Daughter, oh daughter, your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”

Jesus raises me to my feet. The crowd suddenly quiets. I hear a dog barking in the distance as fear loosens its grip. Jesus releases my hand and moves on.

I turn and stumble back to my home, blinded by tears of gratitude. My neighbor calls to me through her open window. I wipe the tears, smile and close my door, savoring the sweetness of the day.